


Boyfriends

by risotto



Category: Free!
Genre: Double Dating, Established Relationship, Fic Exchange, Future Fic, Gift Exchange, M/M, Makoto's Birthday Exchange 2014, PDA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2570108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorching temperatures, shamelessness, uncertainty, shyness—all while on a double date. Par the course, really, with these four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boyfriends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_Murdered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Murdered/gifts).



> For **Miss_Murdered** , on the Makoto Birthday Exchange, who requested—  
> "SouMako/RinHaru double date - early in the relationship SouMako with Makoto still a little embarrassed by PDA."
> 
> Please enjoy!

Although it’s not the worst, a movie theater isn’t the first place Makoto would have picked for a double date. Dining at a new and trendy restaurant or even spending a day hanging out in a hotel pool, maybe, but not there. He’s got no complaints, however, now that Haru and Rin are here. Time spent with them is rare, as it often tends to be with professional athletes, leaving them with only a few random days off throughout the year.

But a lucky chance came when both Haru and Rin have a small break in their busy summer schedules at the same time. Eager for a chance to see each other somewhere other than at a pool, they jumped at the chance to meet up with old friends.

It’s hot and stuffy just outside the train station where Makoto waits for them, leaning back out of the way of office ladies and salary men and everyone in between speeding by, grimacing whenever their bags clip him.

“It’s not too late to back out, you know,” Sousuke murmurs from his side. There’s sweat beading on the tip of his nose and on his throat from waiting for so long in the sweltering heat of the afternoon. Instinctively, Makoto reaches into his pocket and hands him a packet of tissues.

Chuckling at the half-glare, half-look of disbelief Sousuke gives him in response, Makoto shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. They’ll be here any minute now, anyway.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Makoto nudges him with a laugh just as the two friends in question come out of the station. Rin’s wearing a non-descript outfit with a baseball cap tugged down low over his head, most likely to conceal his identity from any overeager fans; Haru, meanwhile, just has on some casual clothes and his usual bored stare.

And something else. Makoto counts two distinct hickeys on Haru’s pale throat. No one points them out as they meet up with the usual greetings and hugs and how-are-you’s, not even Sousuke, so Makoto pretends to not notice them either, even if they’re probably visible from outer space.

He’ll probably have three by the time the movie’s over.

Rin grins like the cat that got the canary _and_ the cream while coolly putting an arm around Haru’s shoulders. “So! You guys ready to go?”

Haru huffs and makes a face as he all but shoves Rin’s arm off of him and mutters, “you’re not in Sydney anymore.”

Rin sucks his teeth but he’s not offended; he even nudges Haru and quips in English, something about _night_ that Makoto with his sub-par knowledge of the language cannot ever hope to understand.

And anyway, the tiny rush of color to Haru’s cheeks suggests maybe it’s a good thing Makoto doesn’t know.

Sousuke sighs, loudly on purpose. “If you two are quite through,” he drawls, voice drifting between exasperation and boredom, “I believe we have somewhere to go?”

Again, Rin offers up a cheeky retort in English. Only this time, it seems Sousuke understands him because he ripostes in kind—what he actually says, Makoto doesn’t know, only that it’s accented and sounds kind of cute, and that it makes a red-faced Rin kick at Sousuke’s shins.

Haru drones something under his breath—or maybe he just thinks it and it’s all written over his face. Either way, Makoto chuckles, agreeing with him.

 _Boyfriends_.

 

-

 

Thankfully, the theater is air-conditioned. Overpriced in every aspect from tickets to food, sure, it’s an excellent place to combat the heat and still enjoy their time together.

After much debate over which movie to watch—Rin wanting to see the big American action blockbuster, Sousuke the cop and yakuza drama, and Haru the award-winning documentary on marine life—they ultimately decide on Makoto’s suggestion: the latest tokusatsu crossover movie.

They’re early for the show by about a half hour before seating, so they linger in the lobby and concession lines. Makoto sits on a bench and watches, fondly, as Rin cajoles Haru into a nearby photo booth. With the curtain drawn, he can’t see anything yet he can easily tell what they’re up to in there by the movement and tangle of their feet.

Not that he blames them, though he can’t imagine being so bold with Sousuke. When it comes to showing affection, couples fall on a spectrum of proud displays of hand-holding and quick kisses to avoiding any and all bodily contact like the plague. He and Sousuke lean more towards the latter than the former for a number of reasons, not the least of which are Makoto’s shyness. Hand-holding’s about the extent of it. And even then...

Makoto tears his eyes away from the photo booth and looks over at Sousuke on line to get some snacks. He’s always wondered what Sousuke thought of it all. Does it bother him that they’re not affectionate with one another like Haru and Rin are? Does it frustrate him?

Is he happy with what they have and nothing more?

They haven’t been dating for very long, give or take a couple of months, so it’s hard to tell if Sousuke’s just as shy as Makoto is. He often grumbled and complained out loud about Rin’s PDA—maybe he just doesn’t like it.

Or maybe it’s something else entirely. For all his stoicism and their lack of contact, there _were_ some rare but very public and sweet moments between them that Sousuke initiated. That Makoto _loved_.

Like the time about a month ago during another unusually powerful heat wave. Makoto was just outside the konbini near his apartment enjoying the breeze and Tokyo’s beautiful skyline; and Sousuke, with his mouth cold from some ice cream, came up from behind and pressed a long, gentle kiss to the back of Makoto’s neck, right at the tip of his hairline—one of the most sensitive regions of Makoto’s entire body. A group of passing schoolgirls saw them and squealed and cheered.

Makoto remembered feeling like he wanted to die. He also remembered just how turned on he was after he pried his hands away from his face and saw the _look_ on Sousuke’s face.

There was also that one time they were on the last train back home after a night of obligatory socializing with some campus colleagues. Makoto drank one too many Chuu-His. While not flat-out drunk, he wasn’t fully himself, more tired than anything; with his inhibitions lowered, he leaned his head on Sousuke’s shoulder—his good one—and Sousuke held him there with a gentle hand, occasionally carding his fingers through Makoto’s hair. He may’ve pecked the top of his head, too. Makoto’s brain is fuzzy with the details—only the warmth and delight of the memory remains.

Nothing happened that night, though Makoto always wondered if Sousuke _wanted_ to sleep with him…

“Weirdos.”

Makoto blinks, snapping out of his daze. “Uh?”

Sousuke hands him an ice cream cone from the concession stand. “Rin and Nanase. They must think they’re being subtle,” he muses. He has a cone for himself and for some reason, Makoto feels heat surging over him.

“Oh, yeah,” he mumbles.

That ears him a tipped brow. “You okay? You’re looking wistful.”

Despite the air-conditioner and the frozen dessert in his hands, Makoto’s cheeks burn. “I-It’s nothing. I’m just thinking.”

Sousuke sucks up a tiny glob of the ice cream that dripped onto the thin web of flesh between his thumb and index finger. Casually. “About?”

“…heat waves.”

“Heat waves,” Sousuke repeats, deadpan and with a touch of amusement as only he knows how.

Makoto pushes his knees together till the denim starts to scratch at his skin. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Sousuke smirks as he swirls his tongue around the head of his own dessert, all while maintaining steady eye contact, which only convinces Makoto he’s doing this, _all of this_ , on purpose. “What about them?”

A drop of cream stays untouched on the corner of Sousuke’s mouth. Makoto licks his lips, breathes in deep, thinking how he could easily swipe it up with his tongue. Quickly too, before anyone around them can even notice.

At the same time, he panics and leans away from Sousuke and his dangerous smirks and knowing stares, his own senses hyper-aware of what’s going on around them: giggly children running ahead of their exhausted parents, hushed conversations from people standing nearby.

Haru and Rin bickering as they return from the photo booth.

Makoto shoots up to his feet, almost dropping his ice cream in the process. “You’re back!”

Haru and Rin exchange a _look_ and it’s Rin, of course, that cracks a small grin and nudges Makoto with his elbow. “Miss me that much, eh? Better watch out, Sousuke. Your boyfriend might start getting ideas.”

Sousuke levels a look on Makoto that’s brief before rolling his eyes at Rin. “Doubtful.”

Yeah. Doubtful.

 

-

 

The tokusatsu movie is well worth the price of admission.

That’s the general consensus among them, anyway.

Makoto liked it well enough though he was more preoccupied with wondering what was going through Sousuke’s mind the entire time—his boyfriend was quiet and expressionless as ever. Sousuke and Makoto avoided contact for the entire length of the movie. No whispered chats, no hand-holding, no shoulder leans. Not even an accidental brush of a thigh. Sousuke sat at the end of the row, so when he got up to take a leak, Makoto didn’t have to move or talk to him.

Unlike Rin and Haru…well, Makoto’s just glad they sat two rows _behind_ him.

But things seem normal when they venture back out into the real world where it’s still too sunny and too hot to do much of anything.

It’s Haru who decides they should just make a night of it in this district and meet up later for dinner. With his connections and just a phone call, Rin checks them two to a room into a nearby hotel. The hotel itself is a pretty swanky and lavish place; the rooms are spacious with the standard fare that earns five-stars. Ah, the perks of being a celebrity.

Makoto supposes since this is his first time in such an expensive place, he ought to enjoy the mini-bar and the California king bed. Instead, he’s standing somewhere in the center of the room, his legs frozen in place, his stomach roiling with nerves.

Almost two hours since they last said anything to each other and all Makoto can say is, “Um.”

Sousuke is coolly sprawled on the bed and browsing through the hotel amenities booklet. He doesn’t bother to look up. “Yeah?”

Clearly, this is going to be a wonderful evening full of significant conversation.

“Are we okay...?”

Sousuke calmly flips a page over. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know. Back at the theater, I think—I think I may have offended you somehow,” Makoto mumbles, feeling more foolish the more he thinks about it. “And I just want to explain myself.”

“You didn’t.” The book snaps shut and Sousuke climbs out of the bed, his attentions now focused on some undefined spot in the closet behind Makoto. “And there’s no need for you to do anything like that.”

Makoto’s gaze follows him, his voice growing weak, “So then why won’t you talk to me?”

“I am talking to you,” Sousuke says, his voice dull and lifeless. “Do you want the bed or the futon?”

Makoto makes a surprised sound somewhere in his throat, helplessness flashing through him. “...what?”

“Nevermind—forget it,” Sousuke sighs, finally allowing their gazes to meet. What Makoto sees is cracked and momentarily vulnerable, fading into lifelessness, and he knows what that means. Soon, Sousuke will shut down; he’ll claim he’s tired and leave and hole himself up in his apartment until only Rin can drag him out.

Makoto licks his dry lips. “Sousuke, don’t—just stay here.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t want me here.”

“That’s not true,” Makoto says, his tone low but pleading.

“Then why do you shy away from me? Why can’t I touch you without feeling like I did something wrong?”

They’re both startled by his outburst. For a moment Sousuke stares at Makoto as if he can’t quite believe himself. And then, before either of them can say anything more, he starts toward the door.

It’s almost a reflex, then, when Makoto reaches out and grabs onto the upper part of Sousuke’s arm and twists him around. Sousuke glares at him, life sparking back into his eyes, though the intensity of it falls flat because he’s obviously _not_ prepared for this.

Neither is Makoto. But he tries anyway. “I’m sorry, Sousuke,” and Makoto lets him go, hand and gaze dropping, “but I’m just—I don’t know what to do. I never know what to do when it comes to dating. I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want you to think I’m not...”

“...not what? Good enough?”

Sousuke waits for a response; when Makoto doesn’t give him one, he drags his hands over his own face, breathes in and out, deep and slow. “Makoto,” he murmurs, “if I didn’t ever think you were the one for me, do you think I would have asked Gou to set us up in the first place? Do you think I went on all of those coffee dates because I like coffee? I _hate_ coffee.”

Something pricks at Makoto’s eyes yet he feels it in his throat, feels it swell warm and inviting in his chest. He stares at Sousuke, bewildered, unable to find or form the right words. “But you—”

Sousuke holds up his hand, gently cutting him off. “I know I’m hard to read and I don’t say or do much. I’m sure Nanase tells you I’m an asshole on a daily basis and he’s probably right…most of the time. But _you_? You, Makoto, make me want to talk more—you make me want to be a better person. So if anyone’s not good enough, it’s me. Not you. Alright?”

There’s another long, quiet moment between them. Haru and Rin can be heard talking in the room next door—they probably heard their entire exchange just now. Yet, Makoto can’t seem to care if they did. Right now, he’s bubbling up with a myriad emotions, almost too overwhelmed to make sense. “...you asked _Gou_ to set us up?”

“Only because Rin suggested I write you a love poem.”

For some reason, that’s what kills the tension in the room, in between them. Makoto’s not sure why, he doubts even Sousuke knows why. All he knows is that the pressure of guilt and uncertainty that’s been weighing him down for months suddenly dissolves like smoke and he’s laughing. Not hard but deep—the kind of laugh that bubbles up in his belly and spreads out over him.

 

Sousuke’s chuckling too, and when he invites Makoto into his embrace—and Makoto _throws_ himself into it—they fall back onto the bed. Together.

 

-

 

Hours later, there’s a knock on their door.

Makoto groans and buries himself back into the crook of Sousuke’s arm where it’s nicer and quieter.

There’s another sequence of knocks—louder and heavier.

Sousuke lifts his head off their shared pillow then slowly sits up.

“Don’t answer it,” Makoto whines groggily, reaching blindly for Sousuke’s wrist to pull at it but missing. “I put the ‘do not disturb’ sign up.”

All pretenses of polite knocking are gone; it’s just pounding at this point.

“He’ll do that all night if he has to, you know,” Sousuke mumbles.

“Maybe he’ll get bored,” Makoto offers.

Maybe not. The door shakes when it’s kicked and punched, angrily, in tandem. “God damn it, Sousuke! Makoto! I know you guys are in there! Come on, we said we were going out for dinner!”

There’s a softer, duller voice that follows: “I told you we should just leave them.”

That doesn’t seem to do the trick. More pounding follows.

“Stay here,” Sousuke whispers to Makoto just as he stands from their cozy nest on the floor.

Makoto rolls over, pulls a sheet over his body, only to discover it’s not quite a sheet he’s had draped over himself but, rather, a strewn pillowcase.

Other things, _numerous_ things that had broken or fallen over the course of their...activities lay scattered around them. The lamp from the desk, the overturned chaise-lounge, their clothes and shoes, _all_ the sheets and pillows from the bed, the futon, the shower curtain...

Sousuke stalks across the room to the door, a territorial glare in his eyes. And Makoto can’t help but stare. God, that ass.

Wait.

“Sousuke, don’t open the—”

It’s too late. The room door opens and there’s Rin with Haru behind him, hand raised and poised to knock on the door again. “The fuck happened, why didn’t you o—oh, _OH MY GOD_.”

Sousuke stands in the entryway, naked as the day he was born, one arm akimbo. “Is there a problem?”

There is, but they’ll never know because Rin promptly hightails it out of there. Haru slowly follows behind him, mumbling something that Makoto can clearly hear from his mortified spot in the epicenter of the room.

 _Boyfriends_.


End file.
